Wheel of Fortune
by palomino333
Summary: A belated birthday gift for LJ1983/L.J Heywood. "I can foresee how this game will end, Kirsty, but I am certainly open to surprises," Kirsty glanced down at the puzzle box in her hands once more as he continued, "It would not be so fun if you were not so very frustrating." Pinsty, set between Hellbound and Hell on Earth.


The obstacle I had the most difficulty passing over was to write this story while keeping both characters true to themselves. The version of Pinhead that Kirsty is interacting with here is Pinhead Unbound from the third film, though a more subtle version, as while Hell on Earth is a guilty pleasure for me, I will freely admit that he acts too over-the-top to the point of ridiculousness. Of course this could be because Elliot is no longer there to keep him in check, but spitball, spitball, spitball ad infinitum. My point is that what the third film lacked was Pinhead's subtlety, and the character suffered for it.

Considering the above, this is why I took a third option, and decided to refer to him as the Lead Cenobite in this story, as opposed to Pinhead, or Xipe Totec. Setting aside the fact that the character was credited as such in the first film, it is a reflection of the fact that Kirsty does not fully know this character, though he knows her quite a bit more than she would wish.

* * *

There was once a carnival, and perhaps it still came every year. It wasn't a very unique carnival, in that it shared the same trappings as others. Spawned in the summer, it boasted a towering Ferris wheel, a chaotic funhouse, and a rather flamboyant carousel. There were probably other rides, she assumed, though now she couldn't fully recall.

The air was sticky with the pungent odors of cotton candy and caramel apples. Laughter sounded, and smiling faces were around for all to see. Yet, not all was happy. Smells of gasoline and burning rubber set the backdrop against sniveling children tugged along by haggard parents who snapped, "We're going home!"

"Tell me a story about the carnival!" Tiffany begged, propping herself up with one arm from beneath her bed covers.

Kirsty smiled, setting down her hairbrush on the vanity. "Okay, I'll tell you a short one," she broke off to catch a yawn in her hand, "but afterwards I need to get some rest before work tomorrow. You have the grocery list I gave you?" Tiffany nodded intently, pointing into the small kitchenette. Kirsty knew full well that the list was set next to the small, empty cookie jar on the side counter. Tiffany had quite the sweet tooth.

"Okay, let me think," Kirsty began, pulling out the chair beside the vanity, and sitting down. "Well, there was a carousel, and whenever I got on it, I used to think I was in a real horse race."

Tiffany's eyes lit up at that, and she leaned forward enthusiastically. "Which did you choose? I always chose the lion."

"The lion?" Kirsty asked in surprise.

Tiffany drew the blanket close to herself as she quietly replied, "He always looked so lonely there."

Kirsty smiled at her choice. "I always chose the white stallion with the black mane. He had a green and yellow saddle on his back. He wasn't the lead horse, but I liked riding on him. Dad would always hold me in place." Her smile faded at that.

"What did you name him?" Tiffany asked.

"Comet, no wait, Snowflake," Kirsty narrowed her eyes in concentration, "I think I kept changing the name whenever I went."

"Why?"

Kirsty shrugged. "I couldn't remember it, I guess."

Tiffany's face fell at that, and Kirsty realized too late what she had said. "Tiffany, you never did tell me, what's your real name?"

She shrugged, and said nothing, her attention fixated upon the floorboards. Kirsty held her peace, deciding it was better not to prod her. She was lucky that Tiffany was speaking at all, given her past, though as to what it was exactly, she wasn't privy.

Reaching forward, Kirsty placed her hand on her shoulder. Tiffany glanced up at her. "I'm sorry," Kirsty apologized with a soft smile, "That was a forward question." Letting go, she changed the subject. "Hey, tell you what, why don't we go find a carousel sometime? There's one at the amusement park."

Tiffany's eyes lit up at the notion, and she nodded her head in excitement. "Okay, then, it's a deal," Kirsty decided, rising and stretching, "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty tired." Tiffany, picking up on her verbal cue, settled back against her pillow, and turned toward the window. Kirsty smiled as she reached for the light switch. "Good night, Tiffany."

Tiffany, however, said nothing, her lost, frowning face reflected back in the surface of the window. Kirsty's smile slipped away at the sight. Turning away from it, she closed the door behind her.

XXXXXX

Lying in her own bed, Kirsty knew it was a lie. It was doubtful that she would have time to ride with Tiffany on the carousel, considering their circumstances. She did want to, certainly, but their time together was limited. She couldn't possibly support the two of them for long, and she was not qualified to care for someone with the type of mental issues she had.

Once Tiffany was gone, she would be truly alone. Kirsty ran her hand down the side of her face at the notion. No father, no mother, no lover, no friend. Julia had taken everyone from her. Yet, she wondered even who she herself was, and grew concerned over whether she would willingly be alone with that stranger. She had known herself once, a college student, and still carried that identity now, taking night courses when she could.

Then what, that was the question. Perhaps once that would have been enough, but that was until she had encountered the puzzle box. She hated rushing into opening it. She hated it almost as much as Frank, Julia, and Channard. How could she return to her simple life, knowing what she did now? Then again, what could she do about it, really? The puzzle boxes would keep circulating, no matter her efforts.

The Lead Cenobite, human once more, smiled at her, his blue eyes shining. She sat up at the mental visual with a short breath. How could she consider it to be pointless when he, as well as the other Cenobites, had fought to free her and Tiffany from Channard? The impossible had been accomplished, their human selves restored.

Distant thunder rumbled from outside the window. The problem remained that it been through sheer luck that she had been able to discover the identity of one of the Cenobites. She doubted she could make lightning strike twice. Besides, she hadn't seen his human visage again since then. Perhaps it was for the better, anyway. She couldn't imagine him surviving in this world after leaving that of the Leviathan.

Who was he, anyway? The man in the officer's uniform stared back at her, his head proudly raised as if demanding the answers from her, rather than the other way around. Did it even matter, though? The other Cenobites had once been human, as well, and as to their identities, she had no clue. What made him so special? Was it that reassuring look he gave her? No, it was something earlier than that, as it had been a passing farewell.

Was it the fact that he had been willing to listen to her when she had first opened the box? She hugged herself at the memory of how close she had come to meeting an early end in that hospital room. Kirsty had thought herself lost at first, yet he had been willing to listen to her bargain, though he eventually reneged upon it.

The thunder rumbled again, and she folded her knees, bringing her chin down to rest upon them. There was that absolute melancholy that emanated from the tone of his voice, and the emptiness in his eyes. When he was angered, he showed it, as he did his pleasure, in the tone of his voice, and the widening and narrowing of his eyes. "We have such sights to show you," he had declared, his hands together as if in prayer, before she had dismissed him.

Still, there was something utterly hollow about him, the shell of someone who once was, someone who had died long ago. While he wore his human skin before battling the deranged doctor, that was not who he was. "I remember," he had declared, and no doubt, he had.

Family photos raced by in an album, years passing like magic through Kirsty's hands. Her parents' wedding, her first day at preschool, her parents' last anniversary before her mother became ill…Her mother's smile was distorted by heat waves rising from the grill at a neighbor's Fourth of July cookout, as well as the grainy image of a home video.

Yes, the Lead Cenobite remembered, but the image was distorted as the old photograph was by wear and tear over the decades. He was not that man in the photograph any longer, as she was not the girl who threw her cap in the air at her high school graduation.

Kirsty rose from the bed, and drew her sleeve across her face at her reflection in the window. Pulling up the sash, she leaned out, and breathed in the humid air. Resting her arms upon the sill, she stared out over the apartment roofs.

It was not completely the fault of her antagonists; she could have simply handed over the puzzle box to the hospital staff, but she had faltered, consumed by a desire for revenge, and pure curiosity. Would it have spared her from this, she wondered, or would the puzzle box have found her once again? Wind stirred her hair as she thought of that strange demon that had carried the box away when she had attempted to burn it. The puzzle box seemed to come and go as the Leviathan pleased, and the deity seemed to view Kirsty as a plaything. She hoped that journeying into Hell itself had been the end of it, but now it only seemed like a beginning once more.

The lotus of the puzzle box spun in her hand similarly to a carousel. Much like the carnival, it would probably return again. Kirsty pulled herself back in, and closed the window.

Turning away, she headed over to the small desk at the foot of the bed. She felt too awake to fall asleep, so perhaps it was better to study. Saturn, colored in blue and purple, was tilted on the cover of her mathematics book, the calculator upon it glowing ominously in the gray light. Cracking open her black notebook with one hand, Kirsty felt around her desk for her pencil with the other.

The dimensions of the Lemarchand puzzle box, crudely drawn by her own hand, appeared before her eyes. Scholarly works on the Pythagorean Theorem were complemented by her own notations taken upon the mythos of the puzzle boxes, as well as her recollections of prior events pertaining to them. The similarities to Channard's obsessive research unnerved her, as she knew that she could fall too far down the rabbit hole in pursuit of answers.

She'd managed to take a few sketches from Channard's notes upon leaving the institution, and placed them within her own notebook. The Lead Cenobite faced to the side, notes made as to the gridded design of his head. He was not her discovery alone, for he had been seen many times over the ages, yet she had been the one to end his existence. Many had seen him, but they had not known of this man who he had once been. She doubted that all he encountered would give him sympathy, had it been the case. It was much less likely that he would accept such sympathies, finding all the pleasures that he could crave by the side of the Leviathan. Then he had to wake up from his dream, and realize what he had done.

She tilted her chair back, her dark hair trailing over it as the thunder rumbled louder this time. But was it what he had wanted? Morality just didn't seem to apply in this case. Though the labyrinth was clearly called Hell, it was his world, one that functioned beyond the purviews of right and wrong when there was only flesh. She supposed that Frank probably took the same logic, but he was not bound by the code that this one was.

Yet, his realm was called Hell, therefore, by Judeo-Christian logic, it was a realm of pure evil and decadence. The part involving decadence was there, the residents of the Labyrinth were monstrous, hence the example of Frank, and the overlord of the Labyrinth didn't give much choice toward those who opened the box. The problem, then, lay in the fact that this was where the similarities ended. There were no boiling pits of lava, for one. There were demons, but they were different, and the overlord was not named Satan. Obviously, there were other religious versions of Hell, and perhaps this was a different realm that just called itself Hell, for all she knew. Kirsty thought perhaps she should feel hopeful that this meant that Heaven also existed, but she wrote that off as more of a Pollyanna-inspired fantasy; there was no proof of Heaven here.

The front legs of her chair hit the floor. If that was so, it meant that there was no Heaven, only Hell. Her hang flew to her throat at that. Still, Frank had said "when you're dead, you're fucking dead." Perhaps Hell could be avoided altogether. As for her father, who knew, due to conflicting sources. The Lead Cenobite had told her that he was in an unreachable, personal Hell, while Frank had quite basically told her that his soul had been extinguished.

She buried her head in her hand with a gasping cry. If the Lead Cenobite was right, then all was lost, and it was utterly unfair in the cruelest manner, but if Frank was right, then all was not lost. She had ventured to Hell to find that her father had not been there, and yes, that knowledge was worth the journey. That was, if it was true.

So the Lead Cenobite had tricked her, like a cat playing with a mouse. While he did take immense pleasure in receiving pain, he certainly enjoyed dealing it out, as well. He held that similarity with the Female Cenobite, the two of them taunting her, and laughing at her expense. They had not even kept the deal she had previously cut with them, deciding to come for her after dispatching with Frank and Julia. Yet, they had allowed her to go free, wandering Hell as she pleased, to a point, at least. So they wanted to take her to Hell to play with her, but she wouldn't be able to leave.

Still, when reminded of their humanity, they had changed, if only for an instant. Had they been the victors in the battle, would they have retained their newfound sense of scruples, or would they discard them? The question hung in the air, with the answers on both sides being strong. By siding with Kirsty, the Cenobites had effectively turned their backs on Leviathan. They was no reason why they should continue their alliance with her, as she could offer them so very little in comparison. On the other hand, however, would they be so quick as to discard the humanity they had found? Was the knowledge too much for them that they willingly threw themselves into a battle they would not win? If so, then it was not out of goodwill for Kirsty and Tiffany that they had fought.

So the Lead Cenobite had taken up his blade, and fought like the officer he had once been to the very end. Photographs, little memories. Larry's wedding picture with Julia had taken the place of him and Kirsty's mother on the mantelpiece. His second wife had been the end of him, all happiness stripped away, as the Lead Cenobite's pride as a gentleman and an officer had once been taken. But she knew better than to pity the dead now, if the second man even counted as dead. Thunder cracked once more, and Kirsty's pencil slid off her desk to hit the floor. The life as a Cenobite was what he had known, and to say that it was a wrong life would be utterly cruel. Made, but definitely not born, he had Leviathan as his savior and parent.

Tiffany stared up at her from a finished puzzle, and Kirsty gasped. Robbed of her name, a family, and all she had known, the girl was appropriated for the sole purpose of solving puzzles for Channard. The Lead Cenobite had been taken to the bosom of the Leviathan as his servant, and emerged from the puzzle box when summoned.

Kirsty's shadow on the wall was illuminated by the strikes of lighting. Trailing her curved fingers along Tiffany's door, she braced herself to knock, but thought better of it, instead leaning up against the closed door. She closed her eyes at the sound of covers stirring, along with a slight whimper. Whether it was at a dream, or the storm itself, that was the cause of her disturbance, Kirsty was unsure, but she fastened her hand over the knob, nonetheless.

She let the knob go at half-turn when Tiffany's breathing relaxed once more with another rustle of the covers. One closed box, one closed door. In a way, Tiffany and the Lead Cenobite were all that she had. Leaning up against Tiffany's door, she fell slowly to the floor, one knee bent, and her other leg splayed out. If the Lead Cenobite had actually been truthful to her about her father, then not even he had the authority to reach him. That made sense, she supposed; Frank and Julia had dispatched him, and neither of them had been willing to disclose his location. If he had been previously lying, maybe he had wanted to tell her the truth when he had sacrificed himself to save her and Tiffany, but there had simply been no time. Perhaps he had been sinister to the very end, holding the location of her father captive for any possible reason.

Really, she thought, slumping her head to the side, the possibilities were endless, and it was far past time for her to go to bed. It was better to leave it alone. Then again, it was better to do a lot of things she wasn't inclined to, but what was the point of living without breaking a few rules, anyway?

The tinkling music of a calliope sounded in the distance, whispering to her through the rain that beat upon the roof. Kirsty smiled softly at it, the lids of her eyes slowly descending. Had she been more alert, she would have been suspicious of the outlandish noise, but she was simply too tired for it. Her hand fell to the floor, palm up, and she stared down at it. A miniature horse, a pale ivory against her hand, rode up onto her palm. Its rider, the captain clad in his officer's finery once more, took off his hat to address her with a cordial, "How do you do?"

"Hello," Kirsty greeted with a gentle wave, and the horse reared back and neighed.

She fastened a hand against a metal pole, and felt as if she were sliding up and down. Bright, gay lights flashed, while children tossed their heads with bright smiles and candy sweet faces. Her curls bumped as she imitated horse noises with her puffed-up lips. Reaching out, she stroked Comet's "mane" with a hand. The hard, painted wood turned to coarse hair in her fingers, and Comet threw his mane back and neighed. She slipped backward with a surprised cry.

A warm pair of arms encircled her waist, and her father declared reassuringly, "Don't worry, honey, I got you."

Turning, she smiled. "Thanks, Daddy."

Larry, bracing his feet against the revolving floor, grinned and pointed ahead. "Just one more lap to go, and we'll win this horse race. Mommy promised you cotton candy if you won!"

She nodded eagerly, and leaned half-out to look at the blurred faces of the passing adults, calling, "Mommy!"

Larry's hands slipped at that, and grew rough, coarse, and hairy. Kirsty screamed, attempting to slap them away from beneath her skirt when they were seized roughly. Frank quietly shushed her, and ran the pad of a thumb over the corner of her eye where tears were brimming. "Now Kirsty, don't be like that. No one's gonna hurt you; it's your Uncle Frank here."

She shook her head, and turned away. He caught her shoulder, and turned her back around. The hanging tapestry on her bedroom wall behind her displayed a carousel and smiling clowns carrying balloons.

Frank knelt down before her, similar to how her father did when he was explaining something her young mind didn't quite understand, but not without letting go of her. He stroked her cheek, and she flinched. "Honey, you know your Uncle Frank would never let anyone hurt you. You dad would get mad at me if I did, right?" He cracked a smile, and she nodded her head. "I just want to show you a new game."

"A game?" Kirsty repeated tentatively.

He nodded. "Mm-hmm. It's really fun, too." Frank let go of her shoulders, and brought his hands before her. His dirty fingernails repulsed her, and caused her to physically draw back.

"Don't," the Lead Cenobite commanded, his long fingernails closing over the edges of the Lament Configuration that he held before her.

Kirsty stared down at it as if in a trance. The box opened, and the lotus revealed itself, spinning so very slowly, as if inviting her. She glanced up from it at its holder, his eyes that impassive black, as opposed to the human blue. No anger, no taunting, and no animosity were found within them, his eyes as dark as they were day she first opened the box. "What choice do I have?" She inquired, taking a step back.

Glowing flames burst into form about her, and Kirsty gasped, leaning slightly downward as the carousel, illuminated in bright orange, began to burn around them. The horses collapsed to the floor, their mouths gaping open as if in pain and, the paint peeling as it was burned off the wood. "It would seem your carnival has returned," the Lead Cenobite observed as she glanced about in bewilderment, "Though not in the form you would please."

"Then what is?" She questioned, turning back to him, and narrowing her eyes at the lotus. "I think I'm too old for carnivals."

"Yet you return to play with toys such as these," he replied evenly. When Kirsty bristled at that, he pressed, "Forget this puzzle box, then. Your freedom is within your grasp, child. Is that not what you want?"

At Kirsty's hesitation, he lowered the puzzle box, and the lotus lost its form, clicking back around to mesh with the box in a benign manner. "Or is it something else you desire?"

"What could I want, that I could actually have?" She replied evenly, "I've chased after enough ghosts of what once was, with so little to show for it. Even Tiffany will have to eventually leave. You should have gone, as well, but here you stand."

He chuckled at that, causing her to narrow her eyes. "I only stand here because you have summoned me in your thoughts. Is it loneliness, I wonder?" Kirsty's fist clenched and unclenched at that. His smirk was lit up by the glowing fires, and she turned her attention toward the puzzle box again, not desiring to look at him. There was something…off about him. He was emoting far too greatly. True, he had mocked her while in the Labyrinth, but that was only for an instant.

She glanced about her, the heat of the burning horses building, but the air clean to breathe as if she were standing in an open field. "What is this place, really?" She inquired.

"It is yours," he replied simply, and she turned back at that, her breath catching as the box rose from his hand to float in the air once more. "Your fantasy, that is."

"A dream," she muttered, watching the box hover in the air, "Then I can wake from it whenever I please."

The box spun about in the air, the enigma twisting and turning, and revealing its intricacies to her in a warped manner, the interlocking screws, the gold design, the catching and locking mechanisms, all unfurled and closed just as soon before falling back into the Cenobite's hand. "Were that the case, then, why do you fear this box?"

Kirsty gasped, shielding her face with her arm as the flames rose to a height, obscuring her vision. A shiver ran up her spine despite the heat as fingers drifted through her hair, coming about to stroke at her cheek. "Or is it because you do not fear it?"

She drew back her elbow to hit him in the ribs, but he dropped his hand from her cheek before she could make impact. She spun to look back at him, drawing her thumb along her cheek where he had touched it, her nostrils flaring. "You've changed," she commented after catching her breath, "Why no chains, no threats?"

His face was surprisingly calm as he replied, "I don't recall ever chaining you, however," chains rose from the floor, and looped about the burning remains of the horses to fasten about her wrists and ankles. Kirsty let out a cry as her limbs were splayed out on either side of her. "I am willing to accommodate any possible changes you might desire."

He strode silently through the flames in the guise of a dark phoenix, the edges of his cassock flaring out on either side of him. She kept her head low, her dark falling into her face as she bent her knees. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tugged against the chains. He glanced about her with an approving manner as she squirmed, the heat from the metal causing her to curl her fingers in discomfort. She gritted her teeth at the pain, quite realistic as a dream.

He placed a hand to the bottom of her chin, and tilted her head up to look at him. "It is not wrong to scream, Kirsty. Please, feel free to do so."

"What's the point in doing so?" She hissed, "I screamed for help when another man touched me. No one came."

The Lead Cenobite gave his understanding in the form of stroking along her jawline. "Ah, yes, your uncle, Frank Cotton."

She glared at him. "Allowing me to explore Hell, and run into him, despite knowing what did to me? That's a little unfair, don't you think?" Drool spilled from the corner of her mouth at the pain, and she immediately felt embarrassed by it. She was no toddler.

He spared her by deciding to stroke her hair back from where it was plastered to her forehead. "You were searching for your father. I imagined you to have the intelligence to seek him out, as opposed to Frank."

She grimaced at that. "You claim to do nothing, but you still interfere with my life. You protected me from Channard, you tried to take me to Hell with you, and now you chain me."

"You claim not to wish to do anything with the box, yet your thoughts linger upon it," he replied simply.

"What can you tell me, that I should move on, and 'leave the ghosts to rest?' You have nowhere to talk," Kirsty replied, "Let me go."

"Certainly." Raising his hand, he commanded the chains to release, snapping back past the carousel horses, and retreating into the floor. Kirsty fell to her knees with a gasp, staring down at her bright red wrist. The puzzle box sat between them, as if waiting for her. Grasping it, she picked it up to hold to herself. She stared up at him, her brows remaining down as she panted hard.

"You were human once," she replied breathlessly, "Did that mean nothing to you?"

"Did your own past mean nothing to you?" He questioned impassively, "By how you hug that puzzle box to you, I see that the answer is already there. Yet, by chasing after what once was, you bring about the box's arrival once more."

"And you?" She questioned.

The bottom of his cassock brushed away from her as he paced a few steps off. "What is a past to me, when I can no longer feel it as it I once did?"

"Who were you?"

"I was once called Spencer," he supplied, turning back to her, "Elliot Spencer, a captain, if I recall. The name is meaningless to me now."

"Surely it meant something to you when you protected Tiffany and me," she argued.

He chuckled, his hand tracing lazily about the air above the flames, as if conjuring them. "Elliot Spencer, Tiffany, Kirsty Cotton, all names that hold so much meaning for so few people, and changeable as they are like that box you clutch to yourself."

"What are you saying, then, that I follow you to Hell, and change myself as well?" Kirsty hissed.

"You are of your own mind, as you have demonstrated to me more than enough," his hand dropped, "But once Tiffany is gone, I will be all that you will have left, and then, where will you go?"

"You encourage me to go free?"

He turned about at that. "Why do you continue to question my motives? I am an agent for the Leviathan."

"I suppose your favoring of me is part of that?" She questioned.

His eyes glowed with amusement. "That is not to say that I am to lack for my own preferences and persona. It certainly does me well to watch you run as you do."

She rose to her feet, the box held close to her chest. "How much of that gratification is from Elliot?"

"You do not seem to tire of questions. Perhaps I liked you better when Chatterer's fingers were in your mouth," he replied with a tilt of his head. At Kirsty's angered reaction, he added, "That was in jest."

"As for Elliot, it matters not. He is part of who I am, but he is also not, for the Leviathan is part of me, as well, yet that is not the whole. If you are lost in what details form me, then there is nothing I have to say to you. Captain Spencer was once me, but he is dead." Animosity, though subtle, rose in his voice, catching her off-guard. "What was once Kirsty Cotton has died, as well, and there is no point in returning for the corpse."

"But wouldn't looking for it bring me back to the puzzle box? Isn't that what you want?" She inquired.

His cassock blew out as the flames grew higher. "What I want is of no consequence in our little game, though if you still wish for my opinion, I would want to see how long you can run from me." She gulped at that. Extending his hand toward her, he declared, "I can foresee how this game will end, Kirsty, but I am certainly open to surprises," Kirsty glanced down at the puzzle box in her hands once more as he continued, "It would not be so fun if you were not so very frustrating."

Kirsty let go of the box, and stepped back, blocking her face with an arm as it fell into the flame that burst into form before her. Wincing, she glanced through the slots between her fingers. The Lead Cenobite's dark form wavered before her through the flames. "See you again, Elliot," she called with defiance.

XXXXXX

A crack of thunder sounded, and Kirsty sat up with a gasp before her desk, her pencils and papers splayed before her. She glanced over her shoulder, and found that her room was empty of other sentient life.

The game was not yet over, though the Lead Cenobite had revealed much in this interim, though much of the information was trivial to him. Should she drop her guard and allow him to win, however, he could do as he pleased. Should she encounter him in this world…She would have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

She drew out the intricate dimensions of the puzzle box as she could best remember them from her dream. Why had he shown these to her, though? Was it because he was no longer bound to the box, or was it another trick to mislead her, perhaps a "dummy box" illusion of some sort? Odd, indeed. Holding it up, she mused over the imperfect drawings. Whether she had opened the box unwittingly or not, the contest had begun, and her only choice was to win the endgame. Though she wished to avoid another journey to the Labyrinth, she could not help but feel the icy claw that seized her inside at the thought that it may be inevitable, given the context of this game.

He liked to watch her run, and she was more than willing to show him just how far she could. He told her that only part of Elliot formed him, and she could understand that something was lost, for he underestimated the pure desire for survival.


End file.
